Excerpt: The Warrior's Secret

Prologue Fire, it burns, kills, razes. Fire cannot be tamed, it is like the wild beast which chases its prey and destroys anything in its path. Fire is what ruined the home, and killed the family of a little ten year old boy who watched as it all went up in flames from afar. Demetrius stood on briare hill, a large grassy hill standing one mile from his home-town, Arden, and watched as soldiers surrounded the city and burned it to the ground. His family, his parents, Drago, and Mereina, and his sister, Briela, were dead, and he was alone in the world. A warm breeze blew his jet black wavy hair, and smoke stung his eyes, but that was not causing the tears streaking down his dirty face. Demetrius, after watching his home, with, quite possibly his family inside, burn to the ground, was suffering such a blow to his heart that it was almost unbearable to see. But Demetrius was not devoid of reason, and unfortunately he was using what little reason he had left to swear an oath that might cause his personal destruction. Demetrius’ eyes now burned with hatred, and his heart likewise, but his heart also burned for revenge. The oath Demetrius swore, was the oath to avenge his family… And the oath Demetrius swore was one that might destroy him.
…..
Many leagues away, in eastern Vladimria~
It was dark, very dark. But inside the network of caves hidden in the mountains of Amran many fires were burning, and the flames lit their dark interiors. Inside the main Cave, called “Ravin Quir,” Dwarves and Fauns gathered around a fire in its centre to discuss an extremely important matter; a matter that could change the future of Vladimria, and possibly end the upcoming war sooner than expected. “We must release it on our enemies! The time is ripe, friends, to attack!” shouted Throndier, a Dwarven Lord who remained very prominent amongst his people, he was well respected, although he sometimes let his temper get the best of him which would, ever so often, cloud his judgment. Throndier was a member of the twelve Dwarven war-lords who led the troops into battle, he was a very ruff personage and he was not well liked although he was the dwarves’ strongest man. The listeners gasped. “But we have no supplies! No general or leader! How can we defeat the King’s army of ten thousand strong?” Replied a Faun, who rose and walked nearer to Throndier shaking his fists angrily as he spoke, “Throndier, if you are truly the man of wisdom that your people boast of tell me; why do you wish to start a war before we are truly ready?” “I will explain all in good time!”Replied Throndier loudly, “But you must listen, and ask no questions.” A murmur went throughout the crowd, some rose and left, others stayed but they looked rather uneasy. Another of the dwarf lords stood up. “Our respected, and wise Throndier has been chosen for our leader, and the supplies will be gathered in due time, but for now we must all concentrate on preparing an army for the upcoming war.” He turned to the Faun who had spoken, “As for you, you and your people are in need of a leader as well, so I suggest you cast a vote as soon as possible.” The Faun returned to his place silently. The Dwarf cleared his throat. “And you Throndier, I believe your anger has clouded your judgment, you know as well as I do that we cannot attack until our weapon is complete, and fully formed.” Throndier sat down with a slightly annoyed expression on his bearded features, but he said no more. But the other Lord remained standing. Another of the Fauns stood up; presumably he was a king for he was garbed in blue, a color reserved for royalty among their clans. “Muirod, my friend, I have not simply come to represent my people, I have also come to share with you a proposition, which, I believe, will aid us in our efforts to defeat our enemies.” He said, speaking to the Dwarf lord standing in front of him. “A proposition?” Muirod asked, his bushy eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “Yes. If we are to defeat the men’s King and bring peace to Vladimria we must have help. Our armies put together are not enough, I have taken a census and our numbers are far less than that of the King’s---.” “Tell me Fleequin, my friend, what exactly are you proposing?” interrupted Muirod. “If you would let me speak without interruption then perhaps I might be able to reach the proposition.” Replied Fleequin, slightly irritated, “Now to the point. If we cannot defeat the King ourselves then why not seek out anyone else who would agree to our cause?” Muirod was silent for a moment, apparently lost in thought. “Yes, but who might we ask without drawing the King’s attention?” he inquired. “I have messengers who know all the locations of trustworthy races,” replied Fleequin, “And there are a great many too.” “I see. Very well, send out your messengers to whomever might aid us in our quest, and for the sake of your people’s lives, do not fail.”